


Nick Amaro Isn't Gay (NICK AMARO)

by RockWithItWriting



Category: Law & Order: SVU, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7531471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockWithItWriting/pseuds/RockWithItWriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick Amaro holds onto one thing for dear life. And that is his heterosexuality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Nick Amaro holds onto one thing for dear life. And that is his heterosexuality.

He was raised in a strict household, in the hood. A house where his father ruled with an iron fist and Nick was never allowed to look at boys or men for too long.

Never once does it occur to Nick that his venomous heterosexuality was a byproduct of his childhood abuse until the day he met Alexei Reznikov. The latter man was tall, though an inch shorter than Nick with dark hair and tattoos on his strong arms. Nick was immediately attracted to the man, though he registered it as aggression and jealousy at the way his squad was welcoming Alexei with open arms.

It was strange because Nick had never seen him before yet everyone- except for Rollins- seems to know Reznikov as if he was their brother. “Amaro, come meet Detective Reznikov. He’s coming out of deep cover in Rikers.” Reznikov turned as Liv introduced him, holding out a hand to Nick.

Nick wanted to turn and run because he didn’t know why his stomach was churning so violently, or why he wanted Reznikov to go. He felt threatened… Or did he? Either way Nick smiled and heartily took the younger man’s hand, shaking it. “Rikers,” He acknowledged, “Tough shit. I did some undercover myself. Sixteen months.” Reznikov grinned and nodded in appreciation.

“Nice. Amaro, is it? I’m coming back in a few weeks. It looks like we’re partners.”

* * *

Nick Amaro does not like Alexei Reznikov. The man smokes. He has too many tattoos and he is too brazen with his words around victims. He is hardened by jail and Nick cannot stand him. He hates standing outside the car to take smoke breaks before heading back to the precinct, he hates the rings Alexei wears on the ring and pinky fingers of his right hand. He hates the watch that Alexei wears.

Nick hates Alexei. No doubt about it. And Alexei can tell. He can tell that Nick is too standoffish, too angry when Alexei messes up after months, nearly a year, away from such a sensitive job. Liv has to get on Nick more than once about it, but Alexei decides to take matters into his own hands, cornering Nick one night in the bar.

“Look, Amaro,” He says, arms caged around the man with the clenched jaw, “I get it. I was raised Catholic myself. My mother immigrated from Russia. I’ve been through this shit before, but I won’t stand it from my partner. If you can’t get over your ignorance then you’re going to have to request for a transfer because I’m not letting your _otvrashcheniye_ win. Okay? _Ponimayu_?” By the end of his sentence, Alexei’s voice is shaking, anger burning in his dark eyes.

“I don’t understand,” Nick furrows his eyebrows and tries to push past Alexei, but the latter is built larger, stronger, and he pushes Nick back into the corner.

“I don’t know who told you, but nobody else has a problem with me. It’s only you.”

“I don’t have a problem with you!” Nick finally shoves Alexei back and he stumbles, but before Nick can leave the bar Alexei grabs him.

“Of course you do. And I get it. Catholic’s don’t like me. I’m going to hell, gonna get AIDs and die. I’ve heard all that bullshit.” Nick stumbles in surprise before turning to look back at his partner.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m gay.”

* * *

Nick Amaro isn’t gay. He isn’t. He’s straight but Alexei’s moans are too delicious to pass up. The way the younger man’s body flexes over his, the way he pushes into Nick. The way he cares for Nick and the way he nips Nick’s neck before groaning out in Russian.

He isn’t gay, but he’s sure he’s nearly drawing blood on Alexei’s back. He’s sure that the dark splotch on Alexei’s jugular is his own bite mark but he’s also sure he’s not gay. “Fuck,” Nick breathes, “Fuck, Alex,” And Alexei, Alex, groans, thrusting hard into Nick.

“Are you still straight?” Alexei breathes, pulling Nick’s lower back off of the bed so he can hit that one spot- the spot that makes Nick shut his eyes and choke out a gasp, “Still not gay? You don’t love my cock inside you?”

Nick Amaro is not gay.

But he is not straight.

Not after Alexei Reznikov.


	2. He Doesn't Remember

Nothing made sense. Alexei couldn’t remember where he was or why he was there but there was a sense of urgency on his shoulders. He had something- someone- in his arms and he was pulling, tugging, frantically trying to breath through smoke and flames.

Alexei tripped and then he finally got a look at the face of the body he was carrying. A young girl, barely fifteen, one thick scar across her cheek. Her name was Joanne, a young, lesbian girl in an LGBT house funded and run by Alexei himself.

He heaved back up and curled her in his arms. Something was wrong, even if he didn’t know what it was, and he needed to get Joanne to safety. He stumbled through the door that collapsed into a pile of ash, coming face to face with hundreds of horrified New Yorkers. Alexei tried to find someone that would help him but all he sees are tear streaked faces and bodies strewn over the street and lawn. He was thankful that the teen in his arms wasn’t one of the bodies.

Sirens were whirling around him and he can see cop cars approaching with fire trucks and EMTs. He didn’t feel as bad as just dumping Joanne on the ground, turning back to search for the other kids he knew to live in the house. They were all close to his heart and he didn’t care that flames were licking up the side of his Converse or that he was bleeding from somewhere all over his shoulder and left arm.

He scanned the living room and then the kitchen before rounding around the staircase to search the downstairs bedroom. He found nobody and when he circled back he came face to face with a firefighter.

“Shit,” The guy said, “You’re in bad shape, man, let’s get you out of here.”

“I am a detective with the NYPD,” Alexei slurred, blinking away pounding pain, “Get your hands off of me. These are my kids.” He turned and launched himself up the stairs, shouting names. The firemen followed, trying to catch him but he was at the end of the hallway before they could get a purchase. Jamie was there, in the corner, slumped over with blood soaking a once white shirt. Alexei moved to grab the young boy, knowing that the binder would prevent him from breathing- especially with the smoke billowing around the whole room. The firefighter grabbed Alexei and the man lets him, relaying the information so that the firefighters could cut it off.

Alexei collapsed halfway down the stairs and pushed his hand into the pocket of his jeans to see why there was such a sharp pain in his thigh- he was met with metal imbedded into his skin from the inside. It was a pocket knife he always carried on his days off, so that gave him some sort of timeframe for where the fuck he was in his life. It had to be a Saturday because he only got one day off. Or maybe it was Sunday, he also the day he spent with the kids and the adults there, working for him.

The firefighter heaved Alexei into his arms and the man lets it happen, head lolling back. He felt like he could relax because he knew that the firefighters would get Jamie and get him out. Alexei opened his eyes as he was shuffled and set down, but then he saw the other firefighter hauling ass out of the house.

Shoving the EMT off of him, he woozily made his way over. He could hear the firefight shouting something- _run? bomb?_ \- but Alexei shoved past him. “I need to get Jamie!” But then the earth below him rumbled and a white hot heat washed over him, suffocating him into darkness again. Time spun around him and when he woke up he was chilled, shivering with pain radiating through his body. He was alone and foggy, but soon the door opened and his brother dragged his tired body in.

“Erik?” He groaned, trying to get his eyes to focus on his older brother. Alexei was a spitting image of Erik, except smaller. Erik was all muscle, no tattoos, sharp eyes and sharp jaw. His eyes, the same color as Alexei’s, were on fire. “What are you doing here?” Erik sat down and shook his head, jaw working as if he was itching for a cigarette.

“The detectives are going to be here soon, the nurse just told me.”

“You didn’t answer, Erik. What are you doing here?” Alexei’s own jar ached and he could feel his fingers twitching, urging for a cigarette. His brother’s eyebrows rose quickly and Erik leaned forward, voice dropping dangerously low.

“Do you not remember?” He whispered, “Alexei, you’ve been in the hospital for a week. I got here three days ago. The day you woke up.” And then the younger Reznikov brother’s heart stopped. He had been out for four days- and lost three to amnesia? In fact, he couldn’t remember anything but knocking on Nick’s door and then nothing. His brother saw the blank, panicked look on Alexei’s face and stood, rushing toward the door. Erik’s booming voice echoed, powerful, like the man who owned it.

“Get your ass in here!” He boomed, “I need a doctor!” He stared at Alexei, then, scaring the younger Reznikov bone deep. The elder took a deep breath, “Vy sobirayetes’ byt’ v poryadke. Obeshchayu.” Alexei’s lip quivered, breath shaking.

* * *

He had never been so scared, staring down some of his best friends. They were there, in front of him, asking him questions like _what is the last thing you remember?_ and _who was the last person you spoke to?_ Alexei could recite them like the back of his hand because he had asked them before.

Instead of answering he stared at Nick, trying to figure out why he knew how Nick sounded when he came or why he was asking the questions they asked to victims. His eyes slid over to his brother, pale and begging him to answer with wide eyes. “O moy Bog. Skazhi mne, chto ya ne byla iznasilovana.” His voice was filled with horror and Erik stood abruptly.

“Net!” He cried, “No, I promise! Alexei, _please_ , just answer the questions.” The Reznikovs stared at each other for a moment before Alexei sagged and nodded, eyes sliding back to Nick. He felt a kinship with the man but couldn’t figure out why.

“I remember knocking on Nick’s door. The last person I saw was Rafael Barba before I went to Nick’s apartment. I don’t know what happened to me, I don’t know why I’m in the hospital. I don’t know anything and nobody is telling me anything.” His voice broke on the last word and he closed his eyes, unable to look at the guilt on Nick’s face or the confusion on Liv’s face.

“There was an attack,” Nick said gruffly, “On your… Organization.”

“ _House_ , it’s a _house_. I live there with my kids and some volunteers.” Alexei corrected sharply, a memory bursting forward to the surface. He could sees Nick’s angry face in front of him, screaming something warbled.

“There was an attack,” Nick repeated, “The basement was coated with gasoline and lit on fire while you were all asleep. A bomb was then detonated in the front of the house.” Alexei sighed as another memory flashed, horrified faces staring at him as he carried a body in his arms. Her remembered the fire and the pain and his heart monitor picked up as he recalled his horror. Nick continued, telling Alexei that another bomb detonated after help arrived on the scene. “The doctors said that’s why you’re having trouble remembering things.”

Alexei worked through the information and then his heart rate spiked again, horror taking over his entire body. He sat up, pain wracking his body. He could see his vision fading and Nick, Erik, and Olivia freaking out but he needed to see his kids.

Erik, ever so gentle with his younger brother, pushed Alexei back down harshly. “I need to find my kids!” Alexei bellowed at the hands trying to hold him down, nurses running into help, “ _Please_! They’re all I have! I need to find my kids!” From outside, a voice echoed.

“Dad?!”

His head whipped toward the door, recognizing the voice immediately, “Kaitlyn?” He yelled, voice breaking into a sob, “Katie! Tell me you’re okay!” The girl appeared in the doorway and Alexei relaxed under the nurses as she approached.

“They told me I couldn’t come see you,” She explained, voice warbling, “Dad, you have to do something. They’re trying to take Georgie away, they’re trying to get him _back_. And, and, Jamie- he doesn’t have his _fucking leg_ and they won’t tell us if he’s going to be okay and Joanne thinks it’s her fault and Uncle Erik said you can’t remember _anything_! The church says they’re not done with us and the police don’t know who in the church did it!” He held his arms out for his daughter, the teenager shoving past nurses trying to talk over the duo. Even though it hurt, like a bitch, Alexei held her as she sobbed.

“Fuck,” He said, tears burning in his eyes, “Fuck, fuck.” And then he looked toward Nick and Olivia, “You’ve got to help me. You’ve got to find the people that hurt my kids.” He gritted his teeth, pressing his cheek to Kaitlyn’s head as she leaned on him, “Call Rafael for me, I need him.”  
  
“For what?” Olivia pressed.

“To keep Georgie safe.”


End file.
